


Of a Mind and Soul

by Garpie64



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dark, Demon possession, Demons, Dissociation, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Starvation, Torture, Violence, do not copy to other site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garpie64/pseuds/Garpie64
Summary: Jason woke with a jolt. His entire body jerked, muscles tensing and coiling as his heart threatened to break his ribs in its escape. No matter how many gasps of air he took, he couldn’t breathe. It felt like his throat was closing up which felt even worse when he felt bile rising up from his stomach. Through blind scrambling, he managed to get to a trashcan before spilling the contents of his stomach into the bin. With each retch, he felt injuries pull and his ribs twinge. His entire body felt sore and like one big bruise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween.
> 
> I promise I'll get back to work on Leather & Lace, but I needed to take a break before I started hating L&L and this came out. Enjoy the angst.

If you are reading this on another site or app that isn't AO3, this work has been stolen and posted without permission. If the site or app has ads, is monetized, or required a fee, you have been scammed. If a site or app claims to provide offline reading, AO3 already allows fics to be downloaded for offline viewing.

#

Jason woke with a jolt. His entire body jerked, muscles tensing and coiling as his heart threatened to break his ribs in its escape. No matter how many gasps of air he took, he couldn’t breathe. It felt like his throat was closing up which felt even worse when he felt bile rising up from his stomach. Through blind scrambling, he managed to get to a trashcan before spilling the contents of his stomach into the bin. With each retch, he felt injuries pull and his ribs twinge. His entire body felt sore and like one big bruise.

A cold sweat left his skin feeling gross and sticky as he sat back wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. The muscles in his body quivered with shock. The vile aftertaste of vomit plagued his mouth which joined the discomfort of how disgusting he felt. He reeked as if he hadn’t bathed in days to which his stomach quickly confirmed. It constricted painfully, caught between the threat of throwing up again or grumbling in hunger. Whether his body could handle any food was a toss-up.

Jason was lost. He sank back against the wall, blinking as he tried to swallow with his dry throat. Careful slow breaths stopped the burning in his lungs and seemed to calm his heart as well. There was still the lingering shaking in his body like he woke from a nightmare he couldn’t remember and he couldn’t keep track of time.

It took an unknown amount of time for Jason to regain some sense of self. A quick overview of his body painted a worrying picture. The catalog of injuries ranging from sprains in his wrists to broken bones in numerous places the worst being his ribs and a deep-set bruising in nearly every part of his body. Fatigue plagued his muscles making him feel so sluggish and slow. He still felt shaken and disgusting and off-kilter. His swollen tongue sat heavy in his mouth making it all the harder to swallow past the dryness of his throat.

Jason raked an unsteady hand through too long curls before peeking out at his surroundings. The place looked like some rundown abandoned apartment. It was all in decay. Pieces of broken furniture laid in ruin. Busted windows let in the elements, the sounds of honking cars, sirens, and gunfire. What little wallpaper or paint clinging to the broken-down walls peeled in strips. Many of the walls including support walls were reduced to just the framing.

It wasn’t hard to recognize one of the many abandoned apartment complexes in Crime Alley. The only problem came in that Jason had no idea how he managed to get here. There were no memories, only a vague haze like a thick fog wrapped around his mind. He remembers failure, pain, a sickening laugh with each swing of the crowbar.

Fire and pain and smoke.

He couldn’t breathe. Something was crushing his already pulverized bones.

He couldn’t breathe. Smoke and ash and dust filled ravaged lungs with each inhale.

He couldn’t breathe. Everything was dark and tight and his fists beat against wood.

He couldn’t breathe. Mud and worms clogged his mouth with each gasp.

He could breathe, but the green burned through his body and then came the blind rage.

Jason bolted up from the floor far too fast for his limbs to manage. They gave out and sent him tumbling to the floor. A sharp hiss escaped at the searing pain caused by fractured ribs shifting. He laid there among filth and trash curled in a tight ball trying to breathe until the pain subsided enough to ignore. He moved slower in sitting up and focusing on collecting himself.

What was going on? How did he end up here? Why was he so severely injured? His mind was still fairly muddled. He needed to stop and think before he spiraled into a panic attack. He needed to ground himself and figure out what happened. He needed to remember.

The first clear memory came in the form of a heated argument. Bruce stood looming in his suit without his cowl. His eyes were hard, face closed off, and muscles taut. Jason met his glare just as defiant as he too was dressed in his suit. The Cave was quiet around them aside from their raised voices. The words thrown back and for the were muffled and incoherent, but Jason remembered exactly what their fight had been about.

They had been at odds for months. The fighting had been becoming more frequent. Bruce seemed constantly disappointed in him. He was too reckless, too aggressive, too violent. The frustration grew when he did nothing different only to be called out for his aggression.

This fight had been different. Jason had long been frustrated and enraged with the system, with Bruce, with himself. Gloria died because they wouldn’t do anything. Her abuser would never see justice because Garzonas had power and money. Jason couldn’t, wouldn’t sit by while the bastard got away.

Now that bastard was dead in the morgue dead from a 22-story fall.

Jason felt his stomach drop sitting like a rock in his gut. A deep numbing cold crept into his bones. He felt small, vulnerable. Instinct kicked in to find the nearest safe place. His body moved on its own to a mattress on the floor, pressed into the corner, his back against the wall. Ignoring the protest from his ribs, Jason folded into a ball to make himself as small as possible.

Bruce had never outright accused him of pushing Garzonas, but the suspicion had lingered in the man’s eyes. Jason hadn’t been a fool. He had seen the doubt and lashed out before Bruce could hurt him. Bruce never dealt well with emotion. HE responded as usual by shutting down.

That night had ended badly.

Jason cringed as his mind slowly knit itself back together. He remembered being benched, grounded to the house with the nagging fear that Bruce would abandon him now that he was no longer useful as Robin. It was that fear that had him running across the globe to find the woman who was his real mother. Except Sheila hadn’t wanted a kid. She had played the part; convinced Jason that she had been exactly what he wanted and when she had him fully enthralled Sheila threw him to the Joker.

The memories came flooding back in flashes of horror and terror. They were far from coherent, but they didn’t need to be to hurt all the same.

A gun muzzle flashed as Sheila aimed the pistol at his head.

The Joker laughed hysterically raising the crowbar over his head. His lips curled even further into the insane smile staring down at the bound bird.

The first strike received a grunt smacking his gut. The second hit bone.

The cackling grew and grew until it drowned out all else. Maybe he screamed, maybe he just whimpered. He wasn’t sure. The flashes came and went too fast to know what was happening beyond complete and all consuming agony.

The claw hook caught in his flesh. It ripped and tore and shredded. It hooked a broken rib, yanking him up and for a moment all went white.

Something warm and sticky coated numb skin. It bubbled up his throat, choking him. Every inhale burned. Every exhale was wet. His lungs couldn’t move in his collapsed chest.  
Things were quiet; wrong. He couldn’t see. His eyes wouldn’t work and his ears were filled with the rush of blood, but there just in the distance was a woman screaming, begging.

“...and tell the big man I said hello.”

Boom.

The world was dark and hazy and there was a ringing in his ears. He couldn’t move his limbs; couldn’t feel his body. The world was dark and the air reeked of gasoline and burning wood. He tried to gasp for air, but his lungs wouldn’t work.

The panic didn’t come. The fear, the anger, the sadness. It didn’t come.

There was only a vast emptiness.

Nothing.

An abyss.

It felt okay to just let go and fall into the darkness. He couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t.

So Jason let himself fall. He lets go to the eternal sleep his body desired.

He had died. Jason had been murdered and Sheila, the woman he thought was his mother, sold him out to the Joker to save her own skin and it didn’t even matter! Joker still killed them both! He died. He went to the dark sleep.

So why? Why was he here? Alive and breathing?

Jason curled his fingers back into his hair trying to force his mind to draw up an answer. What came was only a different sort of darkness and panic. The walls were closing in. The air was stale. Scratching at the hard surface until his nails were ripped from their beds and blood coated his fingers, he broke through. Mid flooded in. He couldn’t help swallowing it. He cried, needing, wanting something, but his body screamed for air and freedom.

So he climbed and dug through mounds of mud. He felt the worms curl around his body, felt insects in his mouth. There wasn’t much there after breaking ground. Things grew fuzzy and even more incoherent. Jason didn’t know why his body decided to come to this dump, but it didn’t truly matter.

He died. He had fucking died. Sheila had given him to the Joker and the Joker beat him half to death before blowing him up. Jason had been murdered. He died broken in the ruins of that damn warehouse in Ethiopia. Bruce had buried him. His corpse was put in the ground to rest.

So why? Why was he here now? Alive and breathing?

“No,” It came out weak and hoarse. Fingers ripped at his hair; palms smacking into his skull repeatedly to stop the shimmering. “No, no, no, no no nono nonononononono!”

Panic was setting in. Panic because he shouldn’t be alive and the air tasted stale, like dust and dirt. The air was stale. Each breath, no matter how fast he gasped. The darkness was rushing in with each blink. It was coming too fast, too overwhelming. Shadows seeped out of the corners coming closer and closer. Their claws reached for his limbs and sent Jason clamoring back for safety, but there was none. The walls were closing in, forcing him closer and closer to the shadows, to the grin.

The grin.

Jason opened his mouth to scream only to have nothing escape his throat. Instead, only that menacing, cackling laughter echoed all around him coming for him.

There was no escape; no reprieve.

He scrambled to escape the hold on his body, but none of his limbs would respond. The world was morphing, changing as he was dragged towards the glowing eyes and bright red grin. Jason clawed desperately for purchase on the floor only for the ground beneath him to give away. Jason couldn’t even scream as he fell to be consumed by the dark void.

* * *

Unsurprisingly for Gotham weather, it was raining. The dark clouds hovering all day finally gave way to the downpour soaking Gotham. It acted as both a blessing and a curse for the resident Bat population. Heavy rain meant far fewer people out and far fewer crimes to be stopped. On the downside, it made miserable conditions. Suits were waterlogged. Rooftops were wet. Grapples could slip if not properly secured. It was cold, dark, and unpleasant. Most were heading back to the Cave to call it an early night.

And then Oracle reported Red Hood had made an appearance.

The news sent Batman into immediate alert, ordering the youngest members to the cave much to their protests. Red hood was dangerous. He hadn’t been seen for months and to just suddenly show back up in Gotham meant he was up to something. He never made himself known before his scheme was already in full swing. Whatever Hood had planned, Batman was going to shut it down and end this once and for all.

“O, do you have a location yet on Hood?” Nightwing called over the comms.

Oracle hummed. “I’ve got his location. He’s located in the Gotham cemetery. He wasn’t wearing any gear, but be careful.”

“The cemetery?” Nightwing’s brow curled in confusion. “Got it, O. We’ll be vigilant.”

Batman remained silent. His mind working overtime to understand what Hood could want at the Gotham cemetery. What plot had he constructed?

It seemed to be a trait of cemeteries that they all remained eerily quiet. The dead don’t make noise and the living rarely come here save to grieve a passed loved one. There were the few adventurous kids who dared each other to stay the night or deface a grave, but things just stayed still. The stones remained cold markers to bodies slowly decaying beneath. Newer graves held fresher headstones with flowers painting color on gray and black granite. The older graves laid duller, worn, forgotten by most aside from the men paid to trim the grass.

Jason blinked as he looked around the dark grounds. He didn’t remember coming here. He didn’t remember leaving the dank apartment. Heavy raindrops bombarded his skin making him blink as they struck his lashes. The rain soaked into him. The ragged t-shirt and sweats clung wetly to his form. His bare feet pressed into the muddy ground. Strands of grass curled around his toes. Water seeped into his too large limbs from where he sat on the ground. His body felt too large, too heavy to be his. It made it even harder to process anything as being real. In the distance, the sounds of the city, the sirens, traffic, people, barely pierced the roar of the pounding rain.

The rain had his wet hair sticking to his forehead. Puffs of breath escaped him as Jason tried to make sense of things. His brain was sluggish. It didn’t want to function, but to stay in the safety that sleep presented. He felt so tired, so utterly exhausted. He just wanted to curl up and sleep. There just wasn’t any energy left to wonder, to think. He just wanted to sleep. Jason’s eyes roved over his surroundings just making out the silhouettes of what looked like rocks, but they were too uniform.

Blinking, confusion swept through him. Rocks aren’t uniform. They aren’t all shaped that way either.

Where was he?

Taking another look around, Jason’s eyes were finally caught by what sat in front of him. A large statue of an angel bore over him, wings tucked into her back and arms spread. Her face was melancholy, a sad but ultimately blank expression in the carving. His eyes trailed down the stone robe to the base and everything inside him froze. A deep, cold freeze overtook him. There staring back at him was his own name.

‘Jason Peter Todd’

His grave. This was his grave. Why? Why did he come here of all places? Why couldn’t he have woken up in his room? Why couldn’t he just wake up from this nightmare?

Why was he being tormented like this? He just wanted to go home. He just wanted Bruce. He wanted Alfred. He even wanted Dick. He wanted his family.

The rain drowned out his tears, but the hitch in his throat was telling. He curled in on himself once more seeking a comfort he couldn’t give himself.

The crunch of feet on leaves snapped his head around. It took a moment for his eyes to find the figure in the dark. It took some squinting to identify the figure of a man. Jason stood on shaky limbs. His brain struggled to parse out what he was looking at until he noticed the bluebird on the man’s chest.

“Dick?”

So distracted by Dick’s looming, Jason didn’t register the second shadow. A solid blow hit him square in the back making something crack as an armored boot made contact with his spine. The breath was knocked out of him or Jason would have cried out. He only grunted as he crashed into the mud, feeling the cold clamminess coat his skin. His ribs were on fire, stealing the little air he managed to gulp down. Instinct and reflex had him rolling away from the figure’s approach. He managed to get to his feet, crouching low as his heart raced. Fight or flight triggered in his blood and set him on edge. Eyeing his attacker, that silhouette was unmistakable.

“B?”

It soothed his nerves in an instant. Bruce was here. Everything would be okay now, but something inside him wouldn’t let him drop all his guards. Something inside was screaming to run, to fight. His body stayed on edge. He found his eyes snapping to every slight twitch Bruce made. It confused him. Bruce meant safety, meant home. They may have been fighting before his death, but Bruce still loved him.

Right?

There was only a flash of warning before Dick’s fist was swinging where Jason’s face had just been. For a second, Jason’s heart froze as his body moved on it’s own to avoid the attack. Everything went blank. No thought, no emotion, nothing registered as Jason met the white-out lenses in Dick’s mask. He couldn’t understand. His confusion left him open. Bruce’s punch sent him back towards the ground only stopped when Dick’s knee collided with his gut. Jason gagged. His whole body convulsing from the hard hits to already existing wounds.

A hoarse sound escaped him as he crashed into his own gravestone before slumping to the ground. The pain pulsed throughout his body. However, it wasn’t the pain that shocked him the most. It was the attack; the fact that both Bruce and Dick had attacked him that stunned him the most. It wasn’t right. Bruce never went in swinging without knowing the situation in and out. He wouldn’t attack unless he had reason.

Unless he had reason.

“What are you planning now, Hood?” Bruce growled. A hard boot kicked at his shoulder turning him over onto his back.

Jason stared up at the deep angry scowl. He didn’t understand. Why were Bruce and Dick attacking him? Why were they treating him like a criminal? He was one of them, wasn’t he? He was a hero. He was Robin. Why are they doing this?

“Answer me!”

“Bruce,”

“Answer me, Hood! What are you doing back in Gotham? I warned you the next time you stepped in my city I’d send you to Arkham.”

Arkham. No. No, no, no, no. Arkham meant Joker. Arkham meant the Rogues and the corrupt doctors and guards. Arkham meant pain and darkness.

Arkham meant Bruce had abandoned him.

“B,” Dick stepped up and that deep hopeful spark inside Jason’s chest died at the cold face his once older brother made towards him. “Jason’s never given us answers. We both know he’ll just drag us along in some game of his. We don’t have time to play his games.”

Batman eased back meeting the first Robin’s eye. “You’re right. Oracle, have Arkham prepare a cell for Red Hood.”

Jason’s heart sank. Something dark settled in his chest, constricting his lungs at the damnation.


	2. Chapter 2

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#

The door to the cell opened groaning loudly and allowing the harsh white fluorescent light to bathe the usually pitch-black cell in light. The form inside cringed away from the light, scurrying like a rat to the only sanctuary located under the metal cot. Orderlies dressed in starch white uniforms entered as the lights flicked on in the cell, leaving nearly no place to hide. There wasn’t much to the room. It was blank and empty save for the single metal cot with no pillow or blanket, a toilet, and a sink. The walls were lifeless, hard, and cold. Nothing broke up the overbearing white of the room.

Without a word, the handful of orderlies entered the room. One man gripped the tiny cot and turned it on its side, effectively ripping away the only source of safety the imprisoned held. The figure cringed against the influx of light and cowered beneath the large men who could care less about gentle treatment. The first orderlies companions reached for the thin form, gripping spindly arms and yanking the body up. The hiss of protest combined with the flailing limbs. The hits were weak and easily brushed off. Gloves kept the nails from tearing through skin.

Grabbing a handful of hair, one of the orderlies yanked the head back allowing another to shove a mouthguard in the patient’s mouth to both prevent biting and spitting. It was a further struggle to get arms into the jacket, but it had become routine, an easy routine the orderlies were accustomed to. With their patient secured and unable to escape or harm anyone, the orderlies dragged their patient out of the room. The patient still flailed, still kicked out when they could and growl behind the gag.

Jason watched how the deranged patient fought as they passed. His own escorts kept their hands firmly secured on his biceps. The Bat grade cuffs that consumed his hands and a good portion of his forearm. The rest of his arms were tightly secured to the vest he wore as well, made specially by Batman to ensure the Red Hood would never escape. The drugs helped too. They left him so out of it that he barely registered most things. They only allowed him some reprieve when they moved him; or more accurately when Joker called for his favorite toy.

Word spreads fast in an asylum run by the patients. It was fairly known to all save the Bats that the Joker owned Arkham; made it his own little vacation home.

Seven months had passed since Bruce dumped him in this hellhole without a word; throwing another problem in the deep dark pit. No one had come to visit him in the time he had been incarcerated. After learning everything he had, he’s glad he hasn’t had that confrontation. His head was a mess of conflict. Anger, hurt, betrayal, longing, fear all raged against each other for the top spot.

Bruce and the rest of the world had moved on, but how could he fault them? It was natural for people to move on after death.

However, how much did he matter if his killer was still alive? What did his life mean if Joker was still free to maim and kill innocents? Jason’s death should have been enough to prove there was no redeeming Joker, that some evils needed to be put down to save countless others.

But what did he matter if he wasn’t even dead a year before there was a new boy taking his place as Robin and as Bruce’s son? How much did Bruce truly love him? And Dick who was distant at best when he needed a brother was suddenly brother of the year to his replacement who the League and Titans and everyone else adored.

The anger directed at Bruce and Dick and everyone else who forgot him; rejected him, and degraded his entire existence into a cautionary tale of failure smashed with the own guilt for his apparent own actions. No matter how hard he tried when he had an assembly of coherence, he couldn’t remember the Red Hood. There was nothing between digging himself out of his own grave and waking up in that dingy ruin of an apartment.

In the end, he guessed it didn’t really matter. There were no explaining things to Bruce, not when he had been left here, imprisoned and gifted to the rogues who so relished having a Robin to torture. Arkham Asylum didn’t help. No one came here to get help, to rehabilitate and return to a free life. Those who found themselves locked away here were abandoned to rot. Jason was just another reject left at the hands of those who so greatly desired sadistic revenge.

The orderlies stopped him in front of a large metal door. Upon opening, he saw the examination table, the instruments, surgical equipment. Among it all, he saw Scarecrow making preparations. The psychotic man turned, a bright look in his eyes as he grinned.

“Put him on the table and ensure he’s properly secured this time. I would like to test my newest serum without another incident.”

Jason always believed himself to be stronger than most people after the things he had to live through. After surviving Willis and watching Catherine slowly waste away on drugs and sickness; after surviving years alone on the street doing anything it took to survive in the worst places in Gotham; after becoming Robin; after being sold out by Sheila to meet a brutal and messy end; after digging himself out of the grave, he thought he had seen it all. He didn’t think life could get worse.

Arkham broke him before the year was up. After days spent drugged or abused or experimented on, something inside snapped. Something died.

At one time his name had been Jason Peter Todd and he had magic because he had been Robin, but now he no longer remembered who that person was.

* * *

There was no reaction from the body on the bed when the cell door clanged open. There were only two possible reasons for someone to bother him: more drugs or playtime for one of the patients or the guards. So Jason remained under his blanket waiting to be wrenched out from under it and dragged who knew where. He wouldn’t even open his eyes, not desiring to look at the deformed slightly human shapes. The familiar gentle voice of Dick Grayson threw him for a loop.

“Hey, Jason.” Dick shuffled awkwardly when the door closed securely behind him. He looked at the form of his one-time brother. Jason looked so small curled up on the metal bed with a threadbare blanket covering him. His eyes were hazy and clouded and didn’t seem able to focus. Cautiously, Dick approached unsure of Jason’s reaction and thusly watching him closely. “It’s been a while.”

Jason looked up at the foggy shifting form of a man that seemed fairly familiar. It took some effort to make the connection that this figure was Dick, effort Jason didn’t truly feel like giving. He just wanted to go back to sleep. The empty nothingness was much more appealing than attempting to stay conscious. Dick apparently took his silence as consent and crossed over to the bed. Dick was nervous, rocking back on his heels. It was odd to see Dick Grayson at a loss for words.

“How...how you doing, Jay?” Dick eventually crouched down to look him in the eye, or at least attempt to. Jason’s eyes were dancing around worryingly so. It made Dick wonder about Jason’s drug regiment. “Looks like they’ve got you on some strong stuff.”

Jason’s eyes flicked over the room, never lingering in one spot as he chased the shadows moving around the dimly lit cell. Occasionally he would see a flash of glowing green eyes, a wicked smile full of fangs as a faint voice laughed mockingly. It was different from the other voices and the other visions that came and went. The others were weaker, dissipating as his mind wavered between things. Recognizing the voices had been easier in the beginning, but now he couldn’t really tell who or what they were or what the shadows were supposed to be. They scared him, but there were other things lingering beneath primal fear that he couldn’t place any more.

“Hey Jay, come on. Say something.”

Jason blinked, feeling the sting from too dry eyes. He couldn’t risk closing his eyes. The creatures get too close. Things happen when he closed his eyes. Sometimes he would wake up in different places with searing pain rippling through his body and cutting away the fog.

“Come on, Little Wing. You never had a problem complaining before. You always loved teasing us.” Dick tried to smile, but something about it felt wrong. It tweaked something inside Jason’s chest; had him frowning.

Jason ducked his head, burrowing deeper beneath the blanket and mumbling out. “Stop it.”

The energy it cost was immense, draining his pathetic stores. His throat hurt. His mouth was dry and he was so thirsty. They only let him have a few sips with his pills. His whole body complained with even the slightest of shifts. Dick’s brow furrowed. He reached up to comb back hair from Jason’s face only to grow more concerned when he received no protest or reaction. He pushed back too long strands spying a freshly stitched laceration hidden on Jason’s forehead.

It made him pause and study Jason’s face a little deeper. Jason looked thin. His cheekbones were pronounced and his complexion being very pale. The skin around his sunken eyes was drawn tight and heavily bruised. There were faint marks around the edges of his face that may have been bruising, faint scars, and what very obviously looked like a badly set broken nose. Jason’s voice had been incredibly hoarse when he did talk, quiet too. Dick’s concern grew. He reached out and pushed the ragged blanket down Jason’s body, eyes archiving every deep bruise, mark, and possible wound he could find.

Jason shrank back if only minutely, but it was enough to reveal horribly raw skin around his wrists and deep purple bruising around his throat.

“Jason, have they been hurting you?” Dick asked, but he didn’t get a response.

The suspicion worsened. Dick reached for Jason’s arm. He was careful gripping Jason’s hand which felt like he had several broken fingers left unset and pulled back the far too loose sleeve to find a mess of pockmarks along Jason’s arm.

Dick looked up trying to find Jason’s shifting eyes. “If you’re being hurt, tell me. I can help you, Jason. The whole point of you being here is to heal. If you’re getting hurt, we can help you.”

Jason closed his eyes and shook his head. He tried to turn his back on Dick but gave up halfway and effectively just turning onto his stomach. “Go away.

“Jason, look at me.” Dick barked in that oh so familiar tone Bruce would use. Jason obeyed instinctively, a vulnerable light brightening up his dull eyes. “Tell me what’s going on. Who’s hurting you?”

The door slammed open as an orderly interrupted. “Visiting time’s over. The patient needs his medications.”

Dick glanced back at the guard, far warier but ultimately, he couldn’t do anything like this. He turned back to Jason. “I’ll be back. I swear.”

“...Joker.” The whispered words were so weak Dick nearly missed them, but he paused as the confession sank in. The orderly ushered him out in time for a nurse to come in. As Dick glanced back he caught the eerie color of the liquid being forced into Jason’s veins.

The shadows closed in once more, consuming even the harsh light above. The voices from the nurses and orderlies quickly became muffled and distance until they faded off entirely. Jason’s eyes fell shut as the drugs wrapped his brain fully in cotton.

* * *

The Joker whistled as he skipped down the stairs of the dark stairway. His boys were playing with Toddy. The poor boy was dead meat with so many drugs and toxins running through his system. Fear toxin and Joker venom were an amazing combination with some interesting effects when mixed together.

“Good morning, Jaybird!” Joker cackled as he entered the underground chamber no one really knew about. No cameras meant no pesky Bats breaking up the fun. The Joker thugs had left Toddy broken in a pool of his own blood. “Now, I know you love to play with your little buddies, but that’s enough for now.”

Jason didn’t move despite Joker’s jeering. He remained on the floor feeling his heart pulse through his limbs. Joker’s sick grin didn’t waver as he cocked back a leg before slamming his foot into Jason’s jaw. His teeth slammed shut on his tongue nearly biting through as his head snapped back.

“I said wake up, Toddy. Don’t be rude to your Uncle J.”

Jason groaned. He blinked blearily up at the Joker, dazed and coughing up blood pooling in his mouth. The villain’s form was nothing but a wavy distorted shape looking more like the demon he had become than the human he supposedly once was. A kick to his stomach had Jason rolling over to his back. A grunt escaped when a sudden weight pressed down on broken ribs. The Joker’s long gnarled fingers wrapped around his throat and so easily pinned his limp head to the ground. The knife in his hand glinted in the light above.

“Why so serious?”

Jason’s scream was garbled and primal when flesh split open and then his voice was snuffed out.


	3. Chapter 3

If you are reading this on another site or app that isn't AO3, this work has been stolen and posted without permission. If the site or app has ads, is monetized, or required a fee, you have been scammed. If a site or app claims to provide offline reading, AO3 already allows fics to be downloaded for offline viewing.

#

It’s difficult to keep track of time when drugged out of your mind and hidden beneath a forsaken asylum in places no one knew about. Jason was left in isolation for long periods of time until the Joker came down or sent someone else to torment him. He wasn’t sure about the lengths of time he spent alone or not. He sat in perpetual darkness when alone, chained and drugged heavily. His mind wandered into fields best left forgotten. Only when someone came down to play did the harsh lights flick on to blind his sensitive eyes.

Alone in the darkness, thoughts, memories, and something else stirred. He only caught glimpses of it, a shadow among darkness skulking around in the very depths of his mind. It was always just out of reach, always disappearing when he turned to look, but he could feel it growing inside him with each new torture session. He was curious, but his body always rejected the shadow. His heart raced and adrenaline filled his veins while fear took over. So, he didn’t linger long in his own mind.

Pop Goes the Weasel played in his cell. It had been going incessantly in a perfect loop. The harsh sounds of an old music box droned on in the same tone and beat his eardrums. There was no counting the hours, days it had played while he hung fro the ceiling. No one ever came in while it played. It was both a blessing and a curse. 

Jason had been left strung up like a pig on a meat hook. He couldn’t see with the blindfold over his eyes. His shoulders had ached, but he did have some relief when they dislocated causing him to pass out from the pain. Now, the feeling in his arms and shoulders had long gone numb after taking his weight for so long in this position. The cold damp air stole whatever heat his body produced sending painful shivers through his limbs. Razor wire wrapped around his form left large deep wounds growing discolored from growing infection. He wasn’t sure what he had done for this punishment. He had tried to be good, but he always failed to please.

So he earned his punishment. Joker wouldn’t have punished him without cause. He did something wrong and Joker was just correcting him.

The metal door banged open, the sound overpowering the music for a moment. He tensed as he recognized the clicks of Joker’s strides when the deranged clown sauntered in humming along to the music. Joker didn’t speak to him, but he could hear Joker moving around. He knew the clanging metal had been intentionally exaggerated all meant to keep him guessing which toy would be used on him this time. Jason knew this was going to be bad. Joker not speaking to him, not taunting him or muttering or ranting meant bad things. It meant Joker was enraged.

Suddenly the hook was no longer holding him up and he crashed to the ground with a strangled cry. Fire laced down his spine and he couldn’t help cringing. He was rolled over onto his back by a boot and then the Joker leaned over him. He could smell the rotten breath, feel it on his face. Joker’s gloved hand gripped his jaw drawing airy sounds when broken bits of bone moved in his jaw. The blindfold was ripped away blinding him with the overhead lights.

“Batsy likes his little birdies with those blue, blue eyes.” Joker’s fingers tightened on his broken jaw.

Jason’s head cracked against the stone when Joker slammed him back. Jason blinked against the white dancing across his vision. For a moment he was dazed, bone shifting in his skull as Joker continued to rant about Robin and how Robin was far too arrogant; how Joker hated his eyes. Fingers combing through greasy hair caught his attention and he blinked past pain to look up at the Joker looking utterly and terrifyingly serious.

An impossibly strong and heavy hand came up to hold his head down and then he saw the knife. There was no time to struggle, to think, to react. The knife came down slicing directly into his eye. Joker was careful not to go too deep. Jason screamed though no sound left his slit throat. He convulsed as the blade severed tissue and destroyed nerves. There was no describing the pain of Joker lacerating his eyeball.

The blade yanked out, pulling the mangled organ with it and leaving a mess in its wake. No maniac laughter acted as the soundtrack to his pain. Instead, Joker tortured him with gentle petting and words of twisted praise. He allowed Jason to writhe in pain until his mind could no longer take the pain and shut down.

When Jason awoke, Joker was with him and he could no longer see from one eye. There were bandages wrapped around his face and the Joker’s gloved hands running through his disgusting hair. His head rest in the Joker’s bony lap while the clown sang in that raspy broken voice perfectly reciting every word of Pop Goes the Weasel.

* * *

“Jason, Jason, Jason,” Joker scolded. He tapped the cold blade of a scalpel against his cheek. “Big Bird has quite a mouth on him, doesn’t he? There I was, just enjoying my time with Batsy when the first boy blunder opens his mouth. It’s downright rude, but then your replacement. Your replacement is even worse. Thinks he's so smart. Wish I could just shut him up sometimes. Little birds should know to just sit back and let Daddy Bats and Uncle J talk.”

Jason cringed as he felt the scalpel slid down to his lips, hooking in the corner of his mouth.

“You're not like that rude boy, are you? You're my perfectly behaved little Jay Jay.” Joker taunted digging the blade deeper and drawing out more red blood. “My perfect silent little boy.”

The blade drove deeper in and the Joker laughed. Skin and muscle split open as the Joker dragged the blade through his cheek. Blood gushed from the wound making him gargle when it poured into his mouth. Joker pulled the blade from his mouth only to return to the other side and slice it open as well.

“Now you match you’re Uncle J.”

* * *

The Joker was angry. He wasn't laughing or smiling and that meant he would be extra brutal. His eyes burned with rage as he watched Jason be dragged in. The drugs were dulling his senses, but they would soon not be enough to dull the pain. Joker's goons lifted him up in the center of the room and with a nod from their boss impaled both hands on hooks. The haze was gone in an instant as Jason opened his mouth in a silent scream.

Joker tsked as he looked over Jason's beaten and broken form. "So close, Jason. You're so close. You're almost perfect. Maybe another little lesson and you'll be good."

Jason couldn't really think past the drugs and pain as metal tore into his flesh. He didn't so much balance on his toes as he merely swayed on them. The Joker watched his struggling for a moment before adjusting his grip on a crowbar. With one hard swing to the gut, he knocked the wind out of the boy. The Joker swung the crowbar aiming for every joint, fracture, and break. Bone gives way with sickening crunches and cracks.

The Joker backed off nodding towards his goons who stepped forward with glee. Jason grunted and groaned as Joker's thugs beat him with their fists and any weapon Joker was happy to provide. His hands were wrenched around on the metal hooks tearing deeper. There was no way he could ever possibly use them again. The blood was pouring down his arms, seeping out from between his busted lips. One eye was swollen shut now with the other crimson from broken blood vessels. His cheek and jaw shattered under heavy punches. He was pretty sure a few of his ribs were cracked and knew a couple were broken. One shoulder crunched from a tire iron and there had been a pop when his collarbone snapped. One ankle was smashed by a boot. Blood constantly choked him which must mean he was internally bleeding now.

"I've got a surprise for Batsy and I need you to be on your best behavior." Joker grinned. He reached down to pat Jason's scarred cheek. "You're going to be my good little boy, aren't you?"

Jason turned his head up to Joker. He didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't know what had happened on the outside. All he knew was that he was at Joker's mercy and when he made the Joker happy the pain, well it didn't stop, but it did lessen. It was all he had. It was all he could do. He had to become Joker's perfect pet. All the tension left his body allowing him to slump into Joker. He'll be his perfect toy.


	4. Chapter 4

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#

Jason stared up at the dark hazy sky. The city’s light pollution bounced off thick clouds. It wasn’t unusual for Gotham to have heavy cloud cover. The rain wasn’t rare. Raindrops splattered against the pavement Jason laid out on. It mixed with the grime to create a film of slime.

Everything hurt.

His mind lagged behind reality as the whole of his body seemed to pulse with his heartbeat. He felt broken and beaten. He was broken and beaten. The warm stickiness of blood seeped out around him, soaking his clothes and staining the alleyway. Briefly, he wondered how much blood this alley had seen. The thought dissolved with liquid bubbling up his throat and escaping in wet wrenching coughs that jostled cracked – no, no those were broken – ribs. So many wounds were bleeding; he didn’t have the energy to catalog them all. It covered his form, running along his face and burning his one working eye. He gasped between coughs since his nose had been smashed to bits and blocked his airway.

Time escaped him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying there in the filthy alley in some run down part of Gotham bleeding out. All he remembered was desperation; running down alleyways, up fire escapes, over rooftops. He remembered being driven by a low raspy voice ordering him to run, to keep running and never stop, but steadily that force pumped into his veins failed him. He crashed hard, tumbling over fir escapes, slamming into a dumpster, and rolling off onto the ground. His body hasn’t been able to move since.

There was an untold amount of damage done to his body before. The injuries sustained in the fall only worsened things. The fall broke many bones, displaced things, opened wounds. His hip shattered hitting a railing and his pelvis fractured. He couldn’t really keep hold of thought long enough to care. The drugs and cracked skull kept a constant fog clawing away any thought that managed to surface. There was a high possibility that he had at least one punctured lung with how labored his breathing was and the blood threatening to drown him. His legs felt numb with just a tingle alerting him to their existence.

There were occasional pulses of pain. He couldn’t tell how badly they were damaged. His arms were mangled, his body was covered in bruises, lacerations, burns, and who knew what else. There was no telling how badly he had been hurt from the fall, but bones were fractured, organs damaged, and internal bleeding suffocating him. Gaping holes aided his blood loss.

Jason grimaced when more blood splattered across his face from another cough. He tried to focus on the rainstorm above him. Darkness steadily seeped in from the corners, but he didn’t exactly feel tired. His eyesight was fading. Muscles began to quiver, trembling as his body finally went into shock.

A heavy thud drew his attention towards the entrance of the alley. Jason blinked. Had some thug come to put him out of his misery?

“Hood.” Oh, it was Batman. Even severely concussed with a probably fractured skull, he recognized that voice. He wanted to answer but his tongue sat heavy in his mouth and his throat burned. “Penny-One, we’ve located Red Hood.”

Jason blinked trying to focus, but he was already one eye down with the other following. The darkness just seemed so very welcoming. Something told him that things would stop hurting if he just drifted off into it. He’d be able to sleep without nightmares, without terror and fear.

Batman made a step for him causing Jason’s entire body to tense much to his own agony. Throat constricting, body quivering, why was he so scared of Batman? Wasn’t Batman suppose to help people? He needed help.

“I will return him to Arkham. There’s no need for the others to assist.”

Arkham...oh.

The clown, Joker ran Arkham and he was Joker’s toy. The panic and terror all came crashing back down on him. Knives digging into flesh. Crowbars smashing bones to dust. Blowtorches used to fry flesh and bone. Hot iron to brand his skin so all would know he belonged to the Clown Prince of Crime. The drugs that took entire weeks of time away from him as he woke up fearing what had been done to him or what he said. The never-ending agony and laughter and fear. Days spent waiting for the Joker or another of the Rogues to torment him. Despair filling him because he knew no one would come for him. No one would miss him. No one would care if he died.

Bruce threw him into that hell for his own good he claimed. To help him, but he just locked him away. Dick had come, but he had left him there, abandoned him like everyone always did. Now they were going to take him back. Bruce was going to give him back to the clown. No. No. He couldn’t take any more. He couldn’t take it. He’d rather die. He’d rather die than go back to being the clown’s toy.

Jason’s distressed panting triggered an intense coughing fit as more blood came rushing up his throat. He sputtered, gagging as blood splattered across his lips. He couldn’t breathe. Suddenly there were arms under him turning him over to let him vomit blood. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound escaped as blood splashing concrete as his body convulsed. Jason’s eye rolled back as he collapsed falling into Batman’s arms. Searing pain erupted up his spine to flow through his entire body. If his cry of pain affected Batman, he couldn’t tell. His head fell to hang limply with his body going boneless. The agony was too exhausting. He couldn’t put up a fight. He was going back to Arkham and the Joker was going to make him pay for escaping...or didn’t Joker let him escape? Joker told him to run – told him to run home to Daddy Bats so...he did what he was told. He hadn’t failed. Maybe Joker would let him die now that he actually did something right.

Another convulsion had him curling in as he coughed. Hot wet liquid spilled past his lips as red started to paint black armor. He shouldn’t be vomiting up blood. He can’t breathe. He can’t think and he can’t breathe. The fear is coursing through him tainting every part of him. He’s terrified. Terrified of the clown, of Batman, of going back to Arkham, of dying.

Tears are mixing with the blood because it’s not stopping and he's dying. He doesn’t want to die just like last time, but what choice did he have? He had no one. He had nothing. Jason Todd died years ago and there’s only so much he could take. He was a mistake, a fuck up. Everyone left him eventually. They all realized that he was not worth the effort. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to live. There’s roaring in his ears but he can distantly hear Batman speaking. Finally, the fountain of blood fades to a trickle escaping past his lips, dripping to the filth below.

He’s being moved, pressed against something hard and it hurts but all he can muster is a pained whimper. Something moves through his blood slicked hair – fingers he guessed. His head falls back, the one good eye gazing dimly out at the fading city. He gazed dumbly up at nothing feeling himself start to drift again. A sharp pain erupted seconds before he registered the sound of a slap. His vision starts to focus if only barely. He can see blue eyes shining down with a hint of concern, but that wasn't right. No one cared about him. He was alone. Bruce was looking at him without the lenses of the cowl.

It was stupid and he knew he could never have what he’d always wanted, but he dared to hope that for once Bruce actually cared about him. He wanted to curl into Bruce’s arms – to feel that safety and security he’s only heard about from others. Instead, he felt himself slipping away again – growing cold. He knew this feeling well. This was death. He had died once before. He was okay. This meant he wouldn’t go back to the clown. At least this time, he wasn’t alone. Even if the present company hated him, it was better than dying alone. It was better than being alone. Jason felt it as his entire body went completely limp with unconsciousness following closely behind.

* * *

All heads turned as the Batmobile came flying into the Cave. Alfred and Leslie were already waiting as the rest of the Bat clan lingered on the fringes. Bruce exploded out of tank holding Jason’s limp bloody form in his arms. He didn’t say a word as he rushed him over to the prepped area. He laid the dying man on the table feeling the adrenaline course through him. Jason was gasping wetly for breath and wheezing past a copious amount of blood. Convulsions wracked through his body. Blood was pouring out of him, dripping off the table. Cutting off his Arkham uniform revealed even more horrific wounds – wounds that he shouldn’t have suffered from a simple break out.

“Shit, how the hell did you escape?” Leslie cursed trying to steam the blood flow from a bad wound on his head. "You shouldn't be alive with this.

Dick stared at Jason’s face. His eyes locked on the gaping hole where his eye should be and then down to the brand upon his cheek. The Joker had gotten to him before Dick could do anything. Jason had been tortured for who knew how long with the number of wounds and scars covering his body. Dick knew something was going on. He knew Jason was getting mistreated and Arkham needed to be investigated, but...life was busy. He had been busy with the Titans, with Damian and Tim, with his work as both a cop and Nightwing. Uncomfortable feelings welled up in his chest; guilt, shame. He meant to do some digging. He truly had, but things had gotten away from him. There were things that needed his attention.

Leslie and Alfred had no time to bother with them as they fought to keep Jason alive. His heart had already stopped once and he had gone into cardiac arrest twice. Leslie was already coated in blood up to her elbows. Alfred was a steady hand beside her after banning all others from the med bay. They were practically forcing Jason to cling to life. Blood was pooling on the med table as his skin was growing ghostly pale. When the exhausting hours finally let up and it no longer looked like Jason would die at any second, Leslie collapsed into one of the other infirmary beds. Jason is far from safe. Machines are keeping him alive, keeping his scarred lungs breathing as casts and wires and bolts keep broken bones in place. He was hooked up to so many machines, so many wires and tubes.

Bruce stared down at the man. It was so hard to connect the bright face of Jason Todd with the damaged man in front of him. His skin was pale where it wasn’t colored by trauma. The bandages, stitches, all of it marked the pain he had endured alone at the hands of a madman. Taking a deep breath, Bruce fell into a seat beside Jason's bed.

* * *

Jason sat among tall grass looking up at the night sky. The air was fairly still with the gentlest of breeze. In the distant woods, he could hear crickets, frogs, and other nightly creatures singing. There was no light pollution to block out the stars allowing their full majesty to shine through. Slowly, as if he was floating, he fell to his back, smiling at the soft grass caressing his body.

Lying out here simply existing, he could almost forget this wasn’t real. This was just a place lingering between his head and his heart. It was a sanctuary he only accessed when the real world became too much of a living hell. It was dangerous to linger, but all too tempting. Spending too long in this peaceful, but empty place would weaken his grasp on reality. He had struggled before to learn the limits of his stays back when he lived on the streets and was wounded or starving; when he floated between death and life; when he was thrown into the asylum.

While he was here, Jason could pretend that the world; that his life never existed. He could pretend that it was all a bad dream to be forgotten in the tranquility of this plane of existence. Sometimes, it had been hard to force himself to leave the meadow; to go back to a world full of pain and isolation and hate. He always did, however. He always forced himself to let go of the false peace this world presented because there was a reason.

He’s forgotten the reason why he shouldn’t linger. He doesn’t have the strength to claw out of this place. He’s not even sure why he should.

The world trembled. Jason stirred slightly. The once gentle breeze twisted into something harder, shaking the distant trees and causing the grass to flow in waves. Something had unsettled the peaceful meadow. An intruder had forced their way in upsetting the balance and stirring things best left to slumber. The air grew colder, sapping warmth away from his skin.

“Hello, Jason.” J’onn always held a gentle voice. It wasn’t pitying or condescending. It was just soft, gentle, rational.

It was still out of place in this world.

Jason turned to greet the martian. “And what mission did B give you?”

“To venture into the damaged mind of his son and attempt to bring him to the world of the living.”

Jason smiled, sadly, perhaps pitying. “How long have I been here then? How long has B fretted over his guilt?”

“It has been seven months since you were discovered after your Arkham breakout. Bruce has been employing every doctor, magic-user, and telepath to heal you, but it appears that healing is not the issue.” J’onn approached, but Jason noted he still kept a respectable distance.

“Seven months?” Jason mused turning back to the distant woods. He drew a leg to his chest, resting his chin on his knee “Seems like a long time for him to worry over a criminal.”

“But you are not that criminal, are you?”

Jason’s lips quirked. It took an alien to figure out what the World’s Greatest Detective failed to ever recognize. He glanced back at the intruder into his peaceful place. “The Red Hood, that’s who they all think I am, but I’m not It. I don’t remember anything after digging my way out of a coffin. It took over. It is rage and blood lust.”

The dark things that lingered deep in Jason’s mind were stirring more and more the longer J’onn lingered. It was breaking free of the dark cage Jason had managed to shove It into. He doesn’t remember who or why or when he did it. He didn’t even remember what It was. All he knew was that It was dark, dangerous, and absolutely evil. During the torture, during the entire time he spent under Joker’s thumb, he had devoted what little he could to keeping It imprisoned.

“What is it, Jason?” J’onn questioned.

Jason smirked. Maybe there had been a reason before to keep It hidden. Now, he was done. “It is here.”

The world shook. Trees bent and the grass withered. The ground itself began to crack and part. J’onn’s brow furrowed in confusion. A rush of dark power exploded forward. Before the telepath could react, dark demonic power gripped J’onn by the throat as the shadowy form of a demon took shape turning all around it into a withered hellscape.

“Remind me to thank Daddy for freeing me. It’s time to have some fun.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finally done. You can thank [EmeraldHeiress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldHeiress/pseuds/EmeraldHeiress), [Wandering_Dreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Dreamer/pseuds/Wandering_Dreamer), [WorkingChemistry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorkingChemistry/pseuds/WorkingChemistry), and [Jane0Doe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane0Doe/pseuds/Jane0Doe) for this ending and helping to encourage one last chapter.

If you are reading this on another site or app that isn't AO3, this work has been stolen and posted without permission. If the site or app has ads, is monetized, or required a fee, you have been scammed. If a site or app claims to provide offline reading, AO3 already allows fics to be downloaded for offline viewing.

#

The end of the world came not with a bang or a whimper, but with a laugh; a deep maniacal laugh.

And a legion of demons conjured straight from the depths of hell.

It took an hour for the horde to wipe out Arkham and overrun the gates.

The city streets were swarmed by dawn.

Gotham City had been lost by the end of day three.

“For the last time, Luther, we are not going to launch a nuclear strike on the east coast.” Batman snarled at the man sitting opposite him.

Luther scowled as he sat back in his chair. “It is a perfectly viable option. We are dealing with paranormal entities, demons. I highly doubt normal means will hold the hordes back much longer. Gotham was lost within days.”

“We are not bombing an entire coastline. There are millions of innocent lives at risk.”

“And there are billions of lives elsewhere at risk as well.”

The two’s argument continued bouncing back and forth across the large table lined with heroes, anti-heroes, and a select cast of villains. The surface had been covered by numerous reports, plans, and research all concerning the current crisis steadily spreading out of Gotham.  
Blowing up the bridges and tunnels after the evacuation has done nothing when the demons took flight. The military stayed in a near-constant engagement in attempts to prevent the spread of the creatures.

Harley let out a huff as she fell forward in her chair. She had been banished to the sidelines after her suggestion to just bob the demon bird on the head with her mallet to knock the demon out. She stuck out her lip in a pout, resting her chin in palm supported on her knee. She was so bored. Beside her, Poison Ivy was much less relaxed. She sat ramrod straight watching as negotiations and planning all devolved into a fight.

Loud voices echoed off the meeting room walls. Sides were being taken. Lines had been drawn. The world was relying on these people to save it and yet they were too busy arguing moral stances. A literal portal to hell had been opened in Gotham spelling the end of everything and they argued like children.

Ivy clenched her fists against her thighs. Among all this chaos, they had forgotten one suffering soul at the heart of the matter. Everyone in this room had forgotten why they were here and who was truly responsible. Her eyes cut to Batman and his little child army. The man stood stoically on his pedestal spouting his moral purity while ignoring that this was his doing. That it was his actions that led to all of this; for not killing the clown, for raising child soldiers, for failing his son and giving him over to his own murderer. The rage grew inside her chest fueled by her own guilt and her own despair.

All this arguing and Jason had been left to rot in the grips of demons.

Harley blinked in question when Ivy stood up abruptly. “Where you going, Red?”

“Gotham.”

“Cool, I’ll come with.”

Ivy stopped her. “No, this is something I need to do alone...and you saw what happened to the others. I doubt you would be spared.”  
That gave Harley pause. She looked conflicted before settling with a pout. “Fine.”

Ivy smiled, gave her a kiss and slipped out unnoticed by those still fighting.

* * *

Gotham city stood in ruins. The fires still raged and threatened to spread beyond the city limits. The streets were littered by carnage, wrecked cars, buses, and buildings. The worst of the destruction, the most horrific sights were the mutilated bodies of the victims. All these people who hadn’t been able to escape sadistic deaths, their bodies had been abandoned.

Ivy averted her eyes from it, trying to ignore the beasts feasting on the victims. Her stomach churned. Though she had little tolerance for those who disregarded the beauty of nature, the scene around her was far worse than she ever imagined. These were not businessmen burning down a forest for oil. These were just people trying to survive. The stench of burning flesh and oil assaulted her nose and stung her eyes. It took great willpower to make it through to Arkham Asylum.

The front gates of the asylum were decorated in the remains of the worst offenders; all of which died in absolute agony. Entrails and organs were strung along the fence. Body parts, flesh, heads all completed the gruesome display. All those who had tortured Jason had met fates Ivy wouldn’t even begin to imagine. She looked up at the gates and the proud centerpiece; Joker’s mangled body with terror still etched in his face.

Thankfully, the gates opened without her having to touch the gory remains.

Ivy stepped willingly into the one place she hated more than any other on Earth. An island made of rock and stone, no Green could take root. No Green would want to take root in an island so soaked in blood and ruin. She could only imagine the countless souls who died in agony here, of the innocents who suffered in the asylum’s bygone era. There was a heavier darkness stalking these oppressive halls. This island stood as the sight of Jason’s greatest horror and yet this was where the demonic creature possessing him had bedded down.

These dark corridors lined with shadow and the blood of those slain in their attempt to run. Ivy hadn’t been present that day and thankfully nor had Harley yet it was made clear to anyone who saw the scene, no one escaped the carnage; not a patient or guard or doctor. Small imp-like creatures lingered in the shadow peering out at her with beady little eyes. Shadows moved, darting across the floor or up the walls or over the ceiling. Ignoring the sense of foreboding took effort, but Ivy pushed through making her way down to where a theatrical demon would make its lair.

Only a demon or a Bat would make its home in the underground chamber where their greatest pain was felt.

The demon wearing Jason’s skin greeted her in that one room stained with Jason’s blood. “You are either very confident or otherwise a complete fool for walking into a demon nest.”

Ivy kept her grimace in check. Her skin prickled with the demon’s unnatural deep voice. “I’m not here to speak with you. I came for Jason.”

The demon contorted Jason’s face into a hideous grin pushing the natural human limits. Those deep red eyes flashed with sinister interest. “Aw, how adorable. Another has come to save the little lost soul? He doesn’t want to be saved. He’s all mine.”

“I came to speak with Jason.” Ivy crossed her arms in defiance.  
The exaggerated grin settled into something more natural, but all the more disturbing. The stillness lingered and then the demon just shrugged, unconcerned over her. “Sure, why not? Not like there’s any saving poor little Jason.”

Ivy waited, not letting her anxiousness show when Jason’s body began to alter. The demonic features such as the wings, the horns, the eyes all reverted back to the boy she once knew. Resisting the desire to run to him grew ever more difficult; even more so when she saw those gentle blue eyes and that shy smile.

“Hey Ivy.” The boy murmured.

“Oh, little bud.” It took only a few quick steps to reach him. Her heart lurched at the shame that fell over his face, but it didn’t stop her from reaching up to cup his cheeks. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. S’been rough, ya know?” Jason murmured. There was an exhaustion in him that no amount of rest could soothe. Pain etched itself into every pore of his being. “Dying and all.”  
Ivy stroked her fingers along Jason’s cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I know. The world has been incredibly cruel to you. It continues to find new and sadistically cruel ways.”

“I miss the park.” He told her with misty eyes. There was a tremble in his lip. “I miss being little and playing in your garden and sitting under the old cherry tree and when you would sometimes read with me. I-I miss…” A tear tracked down his face. “I wish I had never become Robin.”

“Oh, my little bud,” Ivy trailed her thumb over his cheekbone. “I wish that too. I wish I had been a better woman, that I had stopped lying to myself. I should have stepped forward, be the mother you made me. I should have made you stay and not respect your wishes to roam.”

A burst of wet laughter escaped Jason sounding just as broken and ruined as the rest of him. The tears gathered in his eyes were falling freely now and painting his cheeks with wet stains. He reached for her hand, pressing it more firmly to his skin. Ivy looked down at his scarred knuckles before meeting his eyes once more, seeing the knowing gleam in his eyes.

“I would have hated you for that.”

His breath stuttered. His voice cracked and Ivy felt the fist clenching around her heart squeeze ever tighter. 

“You would have gotten over it.” Ivy swallowed past the growing lump in her throat before leaning forward to press her lips against his forehead. “I love you, my little bud.”

“I love you too, Ma.” The words were whispered so weakly. 

Ivy was prepared when his body gave out, guiding him to the floor and settling him in her arms. With his head cradled against her arm and his body draped over her lap, she could feel how his chest heaved. His body was fighting her poison, but even with his built-up resistance, he would lose the fight. She reached out, wiping away his tears even as he gasped for breath and ignoring her own wet face.  
“Hush now, little bud.” Ivy whispered brushing the hair from his eyes.  
Dull eyes focused on her face. Though her own breath stuttered with the pain enveloping her chest, she kept that contact until she saw the life leave his eyes and felt the stillness of death take over his body.

Jason was gone. He had finally passed on into peace.  
An unearthly shriek erupted all around her, shaking the walls of the asylum. The ground quaked beneath her with the demon’s rage.

“You bitch! You vile root rotted whore!” The demonic voice echoed off the walls. The rage and anger vibrated through the air.

Ivy wasn’t sure where the demon truly was but glared up into the air all the same. “He is no longer yours to torment you disgusting worm. Go back to the pit where you belong.”

The demonic roar echoed through the halls, traveling out through the maze of halls to explode over the ruins of Gotham. The unearthly sound reverberated through the heroes and few villains engrossed in their own battle. Batman stumbled at the force of the shock wave that hit him, regaining his footing with a frown. The beast that had been lunging at him slammed into the ground with ear-shattering screams. It’s gnarly claws dug into the concrete as something held it down.

Electricity sparked in the air as the world shuddered. Space distorted and with a burst of dark power that sent Batman flying, a portal opened before him breathing an unnatural heat. The demonic creature at his feet hissed and thrashed only to be snatched back into the portal which promptly snapped shut. A quick glimpse around found similar instances happening all around him. The overpowering shrieks of damned creatures being dragged back to hell herald an end to it all.

The relief was instant. Cheers breaking out among the younger heroes. Batman was far from relieved. Nothing and no one had been able to halt the demonic advance let alone have the power to drive the creatures back to hell. Something had to have happened to…

“Jason.”

The Bat took off towards the remains of Arkham, ignoring the carnage as he passed. Running full sprint down the corridors lined with impish creatures screaming in defiance to the banishment. His gut told him where to head, but he wasn’t prepared for the sight he found.

Ivy looked up from stroking back soft black locks. There were tears running down her cheeks. The mix of despair and righteous anger in her eyes froze Batman in his place. The vines erupting up from the ground to prevent him from stepping closer kept him even firmer away.

“This is all your fault.” Ivy hissed. “His death and the deaths of every innocent person in this forsaken city rests on your shoulders. You are no hero, Bat.”

He had nothing to say in response. Ivy expected nothing more.

* * *

It was a testament to the city’s resilience that Gotham was once more populated and alive only a few months after an invasion from hell. Although, it could be argued as a show of the city’s seedy nature. The repairs were still very much in progress with major parts of the city still uninhabitable. Life, regardless, had continued on like normal.

There was one section of Gotham which had recovered faster than the rest, growing lush gardens under the care of Poison Ivy. Ivy hadn’t been seen outside her garden walls though the growth of her garden ensured she was alive and well. She simply had little to do with the outside world as she regrew her garden of rare and unique plant life.

As Ivy walked through her garden, she greeted her lovely darlings; her beauties and rarities found only in the wildest parts of the world untouched by man. However, among the unique specimens stood a single simple tree cherished above all. It was a simple cherry tree found commonly across the country, but this one held much of Ivy’s love. The tree stood tall with a thick canopy sheltering a nest of roots below.

Nestled deep in the earth and protected by those powerful roots, Jason slept. It was a pleasant resting place, one he had loved as a child. She had often found the dirty half-starved street rat curled in the safe bed of roots and moss sleeping so peacefully. She had been confused by the gentle whispers of the green, but she understood the fondness now as the tree that once provided sanctuary when he was a child now provided that same security in death.

Ivy settled among the roots, sitting on her knees and placing a hand upon one ancient root. She could hear the tree hum to her, speaking softly. She smiled, a deep sadness still lingering in her heart for the boy she could not save.

A shudder ran through the tree very different from a simple gust of air. Flower petals from the tree’s blossoms cascaded down upon her. Concern filled her. Had the tree become ill? Had it been poisoned? She would not lose this, her last connection to Jason. Ivy stood. Her eyes roved over the massive tree looking for a possible reason to the sudden dropping of blooms and shiver. There was no evidence of illness, but there was something odd among the clusters of blossoms.

Upon request, the tree lowered its branches allowing Ivy to see this strange cluster.

Her heart stopped as the petals peeled away and the cry of an infant met her ears. Lying in the blanket of cherry blossoms was an infant with dark black hair with a little white strip in his bangs and skin as green as hers. The infant opened his eyes and vibrant green met hers. The crying stopped replaced with a smile with little tiny hands reaching up towards Ivy.

Her hands shook upon reaching for the child, but she carefully moved him into her arms as a single tear escaped her watery eyes.

“Jason,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/garpie64)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/garpie64)
> 
> And thanks to [EmeraldHeiress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldHeiress/pseuds/EmeraldHeiress) for helping this fic reach its full potential!


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